


I Didn't Mean It (And I'm Sorry I Said It)

by rainingcatsandkisses



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Sickfic, a little bit of angst but not for long, el cares very much about mike and guess what? mike cares very much about el too!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 05:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19457674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainingcatsandkisses/pseuds/rainingcatsandkisses
Summary: In the throes of a fever, Mike blames El for her yearlong disappearance.





	I Didn't Mean It (And I'm Sorry I Said It)

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in my drafts since the second season of Stranger Things aired and I'm finally dusting it (and others) off in honor of ST3 being released in like, a day. Thanks for reading!

“Is he going to die?” El Hopper’s voice shakes as she leans over Mike’s unmoving form. His labored breathing sends cold shivers down her spine, and his pale face mimics her own. She holds his hand delicately, aware of its clamminess, and leans in towards him, scooting the chair closer to his bed. She remembers the way her heart had felt like it had dropped through the floor when Max had called and said that Mike had collapsed off his bike and could you please come to the Wheelers’ house? She’d had to take a moment to register what Max had said: Mike, collapsed, come.

And the dining room lights had blown out, but she was already out the door.

It had been just a year since she’d found her friends again and closed the gate, and a month or so since she and Hopper had moved out of their cabin in the woods and into a tiny house on the outskirts of the Hawkins suburbs, and, effectively, into society for the first time. The house itself was nothing really special, but it was only a 20 minute walk from Mike’s. 

Today, she’d made it in 10.

Now, she was bent over Mike’s unconscious body, heart racing a mile a minute, watching every rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to breathe, afraid she would lose him again.

She looks up fearfully as Karen Wheeler leans down to the other side of Mike’s bed, a damp washcloth in her hands. She gently wipes away sweat, caressing her son’s face, and looks across the bed to El. She smiles, no doubt seeing the worry in El’s eyes, and reaches her free hand over Mike and placing it gently on top of their entwined fingers.

“Don’t worry, Jane,” she says softly, giving El’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “He won’t die. It’s just a bad reaction to a bad flu.” El knew what a flu was. Dustin had had one a few months ago. Will had had a flu just last month. But Mike had never had one, not while she’d been around. And she’d never seen it this bad.

“Will he be okay?” She asks, voice quavering. “Can he handle it?” Because while her Mike had braved demogorgons and demodogs, military forces and supernatural tunnels, she’d never seen him look so helpless. Mrs. Wheeler snorts, then covers her mouth with her hand, a smile poking through her fingers and a twinkle in her eyes. 

“Oh yes. Some hot soup and a spoonful of medicine when he wakes up and he’ll be good as new.” She stands straight, smoothing Mike’s hair away from his forehead. “Best to give him some peace and quiet, Jane.” El glances up quickly, eyes wide and pleading.

“Can I stay please? I’ll be quiet, I promise.” Mrs. Wheeler looks at her, something like surprise on her face.

“Are you sure? He’s just going to be sleeping the whole time. I can go ahead and take you home - Lucas and Maxine left just a few minutes ago.” El shakes her head, eyes flicking back to Mike’s furrowed brows.

“I’m worried.” She can feel Mrs. Wheeler’s surprise spike. It makes sense. She’s only supposed to have known Mike for a couple months. But she can’t leave him, not like this. His mother is silent for a few moments.

“Alright,” she concedes, “But just for an hour. Try not to wake him up, dear, and don’t get too close, okay? We don’t want you to get sick too.” El nods, eyes shining. “If he wakes up, come and get me.” El nods again, turning to face Mike. She hears Mrs. Wheeler sigh before closing the door, and then everything is quiet. She glances at his hand, desperate to hold it, but his mother’s warning of not waking him rings in her head, and so instead she moves out of the chair next to his bed and onto the floor, eyes on his face as if she could heal his flu with her mind. 

To no surprise, her skills do not extend to healing, and Mike’s breathing stays the same. She lays her arms on the bed and rests her chin on them, eyes never leaving his face, not even for a moment. Minutes tick by, and still Mike continues to lay motionless. El feels hollow. Mike, her Mike, was in pain and there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t protect him this time. 

Her breaths begin to match his.

The next thing El is aware of is Mike’s room, slightly darker than before, and Mike, on his side, glazed eyes on her face, brushing away a tear on her cheek. She sits up, clutching his hand. “You’re awake!” She exclaims quietly.

“You’re crying.” He whispers back, voice cracking. Then he blinks. “You’re crying.” He repeats, coughing. He tries to sit up, body shaking, but El gently pushes him back down onto the bed. 

“It’s fine,” she assures him, standing up and wiping her eyes. “I’m okay.” Mike opens his mouth to say something else, but she cuts him off. “I have to go tell your mom you’re awake.” And she tries to step away from the bed, towards the door, but Mike’s hand shoots out and grabs her wrist, and she turns back in surprise.

“Wait,” he croaks out, “wait, El.” He coughs again. “Are you really here?” She freezes.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you real? Am I dreaming?” El blinks in confusion, eyebrows furrowing. She kneels beside Mike’s bed again, and he lets go of her wrist to grab her sweater. His sweater, really, a striped one he’d lent to her a couple months ago that she’d conveniently forgotten to return, and he stares at it now. “You’re wearing my sweater?” His fingers tighten on the fabric. “El, why are you wearing my sweater?” El blinks again. She was starting to get worried.

“Mike, are you okay?”

He looks up at her again, and her heart breaks when she see tears in his eyes. “You’re really here?” he whispers, voice trembling. She takes his hands, squeezing them, as if her fingers could say more than her words.

“I’m really here.” she whispers back. “Promise.” He goes silent, staring at their joined hands. El is quiet too, worried. Her Mike is never like this. Her Mike is so strong, and caring, and wonderful. 

“Why did you leave?” He asks suddenly. El looks at him, but he is still staring at her hands wrapped around his, like he can’t believe it is real.

“What?” Her voice cracks. Mike swallows heavily, not meeting her eyes.

“Why didn’t you come and find me?” 

“Mike, what?” She reaches out, brushes his hair out of his eyes. His skin is hot to the touch. He reaches up and brings her hand back down, squeezing tightly. He looks up at her, finally, but it’s like he’s seeing through her.

“You were out there, this whole time,” he whispers, grip unrelenting. “I looked everywhere for you.”

“Mike, I-” The words don’t come out.

“I called you every night.” She strokes his hand.

“I know, Mike, I-”

“Lucas and Dustin, they didn’t understand, they never understood. Why I called.” His voice is hoarse, and he coughs again. 

“Mike, please-”

“And then you appear, El, you appeared and you’d heard me and you’d seen me but you didn’t  _ say _ anything.”

“Mike-”

“I thought you were dead, El. I thought you were dead.”

He goes silent, and his words finally catch up to her. Despite the fact that El’s year long disappearance was months in the past, she knew that it had left a mark on her friends, Mike more so than others. And if she was honest, she has never forgiven herself either, for not trying harder to get back to them, to let them know she was okay. And he was right, at least she could see him, sometimes, in the Void. He couldn’t say the same. “Mike,” she murmurs, moving to sit on the edge of his bed, and wipes away a stray tear from the corner of his eye. “I had to stay away. I had no choice.” But it feels like a lie, even to her, and she doesn’t stop him when he brushes her hands away.

“Bullshit,” he slurs, coughing. “That’s bullshit.” El’s already fractured heart shatters even more. 

“You’re right,” she folds her hands in her lap and looks at them, picking at a piece of skin on her thumb. “It’s...it’s bullshit. I wanted to see you, Mike, much more than- I saw you everyday but you couldn’t see me and it’s bullshit and I’m so, so sorry.” She hiccups, tears welling in her eyes, spilling over. There isn’t anything she can say to ease his pain from back then, but she tries anyways. “Mike, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” He doesn’t say anything, and she looks up.

He lays unmoving, breaths deep, eyes closed. Asleep. She sniffles, wiping her eyes and nose on her sleeve, and stands up. She hated when Mike was angry, more so because he never was with her, but she knew he had every right to be. She blamed herself, every single time she saw him, for not reaching out, for taking 353 days to touch him again. Will had told her, Dustin and Lucas had told her, even Max had told her, once they’d become friends; Mike had been cold and empty and distant and unhappy for a year, and she knew that it was her fault. She blamed no one but herself.

Mike coughs in his sleep, and she pushes her way back from the bed. She’d overstayed her welcome.

As she comes down the stairs, however, she is intercepted by Mrs. Wheeler coming up. “Jane!” she exclaims, “I was just coming up to see you. How’s Mike?”

Angry, El wanted to say. “Sleeping,” she says instead. Mrs. Wheeler looks frazzled. “What’s wrong?” she asks, concerned. Mike’s mom sighs.

“Holly’s caught his flu. I have to go take her to the doctor; I’ll be gone for about an hour. Do you think you can keep an eye on Mike until then? Nancy should be home from work by then too, and she can drive you home.” El hesitates, not sure if she wants to be there when Mike wakes up, if he was still that upset with her, but one look at Mrs. Wheeler’s harried expression, and she agrees. Mrs. Wheeler acts quickly, writing down a list of numbers to call in case of an emergency, and reminds El to wipe Mike’s face down with a cool towel occasionally. El nods along to each instruction, and is waving goodbye to Mrs. Wheeler and a crying Holly in a matter of minutes. As soon as the door closes, she realizes how silent the house is. She misses Mike’s chatter about everything and nothing, his hand in hers, grounding her to this reality, that everything was okay and normal. She misses her Mike. 

El follows Mrs. Wheeler’s instructions carefully, and sits by Mike’s bed for another half hour, wiping his head and cheeks with a cool, damp washcloth every so often. At one point, he mumbles her name, but before she can ask if he is feeling better, he falls back asleep. El feels hollow. Being in the woods on her own for those few weeks hadn’t felt as lonely as this did. 

About thirty minutes later, she notices that the washcloth she has been using has become lukewarm , and so she goes back downstairs to cool it down and refill her water. The bowl is about half full when she hears her name being called from the stairs. Quickly, she turns the faucet off and races up, only to collide with a frantic Mike at the top of the landing. They both freeze, staring at each other, and Mike moves first, launching his arms around her and squeezing her tight, whispering a million ‘I’m sorry’s’ into her ear. She reaches up, hands on his shoulders, rubbing methodically as he continues to apologize. When he stops for a breath, she pulls away slightly.

“Mike, it’s okay, there’s nothing to be sorry for.” She tries to say, but he shakes his head vehemently, moving his hands from around her back to cup her cheeks, stroking gently. He stares into her eyes, and she swallows. Her own hands move to grasp onto his wrists.

“I didn’t mean it El,” He whispers, “and I’m sorry I said it.” El can only nod. “Yes,” he continues, “I was angry, and hurt, that you were alive and I didn’t know, that Hopper kept that from me when he could have just _ told  _ me. But I don’t blame you. I’ve never blamed you, for any of it. I promise.” 

She leans up, nose against his, and closes her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to see you.” 

“I know that contacting me could have put you in danger, and that’s the last thing I could ever want.” He murmurs, and El thinks she’s going to cry again, because Mike always knows exactly what to say to her, to make her feel that she’s alright after all. He smiles, that smile she loves because he only smiles like that at her, and kisses her, softly, for half a second. 

“I missed you El.” He says against her lips.

“I missed you too.” She says against his.

And it’s a statement they’ve shared a thousand times over the past year, but even now, as she smiles to match his, it feels brand new. 

He pulls her in one more time, plasters himself to her, and she squeals; his sweat is sticky and he’s still grossly hot, so she pushes him away, laughing, and he laughs too, holding onto her hands.

“I’m going to go take a shower. I feel like mush. Will you stay a little longer?” 

El nods. “I’ll stay.” He smiles again, that smile. 

“Thank you.” And both of them know it doesn’t only mean for today.

While he’s taking a shower, El busies herself. She finishes filling up the cold water from downstairs, and then decides to change his bedsheets, thankfully knowing how from her own escapades with nightmare-drenched sheets. She had just finished haphazardly straightening the blanket when Mike steps back into the room, wearing a fresh shirt and pajama pants, hair still damp from the water. His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape.

“El, you didn’t have to do that,” he says, walking towards her. She just shrugs. 

“I wanted to.” 

He comes close, taking her hands, and leans down. “Thank you,” he whispers again. El nods, nose brushing his, and leans up, just a little, just enough to make their lips -

“Mike! Eleven!” Nancy’s voice calls from down the stairs, and El jumps back in surprise. Mike’s eyes close, brows furrowed, and he whips his head around to shout “Up here!” back at his sister. His voice is still croaky, and she struggles to refrain from giggling as she tries to take another step away from him, but he pulls her back. Nancy opens the door and looks in, grinning when she sees the two together. 

“Hey Eleven. How are you feeling Mike?” He shrugs. 

“Still rough, but a little better.”

“I wonder why, huh?” Nancy smirks. Mike glares back. “Mom’ll be back in a minute Mike, so I’ll go ahead and take El home now. Get more rest. You ready to go?” She says to her. El nods and steps away from Mike, only to quickly step back in and reach up to place a kiss on his cheek. Nancy snorts, but withdraws from the room.

“Feel better soon Mike.” She says. He gives her hands a squeeze, a gentle grin on his face. 

“I will.” And she leaves, following Nancy out of the house. She looks back, up at where Mike’s window is, and he’s standing at it, waving at her. She waves back. 

Maybe, deep down, he is still angry at her. And maybe, deep down, she’s still angry at herself. But they are together, and together they will figure out how to heal. Tomorrow, or in another 353 days, El knows, as she climbs into Nancy’s car, that she and Mike have all the time they need to do it together.


End file.
